


ALL GUTS ALL GLORY

by Katjatier



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Body Horror, Crack, Dubious Consent, Eddie and Venom still need to work on their communication skills, Gore, Guro, I don't even have words for most of this, M/M, Other, Tentacles, Violence, general disgustingness, just really bad, mindfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 10:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katjatier/pseuds/Katjatier
Summary: I guess some of the bad guys are still looking for me even though Drake is dead, Eddie thinks as he falls over, and then he thinksthank god this didn’t happen in front of Anne, and then he thinksoh god, are those my intestines?





	ALL GUTS ALL GLORY

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Someone did a beautiful piece of artwork based on this fic and it is [here](https://tiamatka.tumblr.com/post/179029299299/someone-did-artwork-of-my-very-first-venom-fic-and)!  
> 

 

The explosion hits Eddie as he is cutting through an alleyway on his way back to his house, when the symbiote is still weak from the fire.

 _I guess some of the bad guys are still looking for me even though Drake is dead_ , Eddie thinks as he falls over, and then he thinks _thank god this didn’t happen in front of Anne_ , and then he thinks _oh god, are those my intestines?_

They are: he's lying on his side, and in the weak light of the alley, he can see what looks like half of his insides just lying there in front of him: they’re spilling out of a long, horizontal wound that splits his lower abdomen just above the waist of his jeans. Intestines, and probably other very important stuff as well, wet and glistening in the reflected distant streetlights, and not only can Eddie see them but he can see that they’re _on the ground_ , on the filthy alleyway concrete that’s doused in piss and bin-water.

Eddie groans. He remembers the symbiote pushing itself forward inside him to protect him, trying to block the impact of the little drone’s projectile—the sole reason the rest of him is still in one piece, probably—remembers something long and black shooting from his left arm and knocking the drone out of the air. Remembers the deep, cutting pressure in his abdomen as it all happened. He’s curled up on the ground now, knees drawn up as far as they’ll go, and his hands—

—Venom is gone from his arms and hands, and instead both of Eddie's hands are clutching at the hot slickness of his own guts, like he’d realized what had happened while he was still dazed and had been trying to stuff everything back into his body.

 _Noooo_ , he thinks. _Nooo, not hands. That is really unhygienic_.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, and inside his head there’s a silence—the injured symbiote hasn’t been talking to him much for most of his way home—but it’s an _active_ silence: it feels like the symbiote is rallying, trying to draw on depleted reserves. _Quiet_ , it hisses. _Men are coming. Tracking that drone that got us_.

“Fucking _great_ ,” Eddie says. He feels movement inside his chest, sliding and deep, but it's faint, not like before. Before, the symbiote would have fixed him by now, wouldn’t it? But then nothing quite like _this_ had happened before, maybe it isn't able to—

“Can you fix this,” he says, cutting off the attempted panic with a question. His tone comes out less hopeful than he’d expected.

More silence from the symbiote, and Eddie groans again, loud in the silent, empty alley. It fucking _hurts,_ keeps just hurting more and more _—_ it had hurt before, when he'd been injured while the symbiote was inside him, but until now, it had never hurt as much as he’d expected it would _._ He’d figured that it was either because the symbiote was blocking the nerve signals somehow, or that maybe Eddie was just one of those people whose adrenaline blocks pain really well.

 _Well, I guess it’s not the fucking latter_ , he thinks, and he squirms around on the ground with the absolute opposite of dignity, feeling and probably looking like a dying bug, smearing himself with more of whatever filth is on the ground out here. It has been a pretty bad night so far, but this is a low point.

 _I’m trying, Eddie,_ the symbiote says, and finally Eddie can actually feel what it’s referring to: the same weird inside-outside-push as before, the goo moving easily between cells and through barriers and membranes, seeping from his chest down through his diaphragm, down toward his belly. The movement is sluggish now, tired almost, like a man dragging himself out of bed after an hour’s sleep, and it takes long enough that Eddie has time for the feeling to sink in, to notice when it reaches the wound in his belly and—

“It hurts,” Eddie says, loud enough that something that might be a rat skitters and bolts in the shadows a few yards away. He has the presence of mind to bring his hands up away from where they’d been clutching at his insides, and he draws them up in front of his face instead, sees his fingers curling from the sudden pain. “Oh god _fuck_ it hurts.”

 _I’m weak,_ the symbiote says, sounding annoyed. _We went through something back there, if you didn’t notice_.

Eddie isn’t able to snap back at it like he wants to, because _Oh god it hurts fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ It feels like salt and antiseptic in a wound, it feels like an animal crawling inside him, it feels like teeth and burning and nails, it feels like—

_I’m sorry, Eddie,I can’t go any quicker._

“Shut up,” he groans. “Just _shut up,_ just god make it stop—”

A pause in that terrible slow healing movement inside him. _Do you want me to do something to make it better._

“Yes, yes!” He sucks in breath, tries to hold still as he watches his fingers tense and then uncurl in front of him. His skin is wet again, a new layer of slick moisture that’s not from the water he was swimming in before. It still hurts so much. He is sick and shaky with the pain. “Why weren’t you doing that in the fucking first place?”

 _I’m weak_ , the symbiote says again, and Eddie holds off yelling at it, because this time it actually _sounds_ weak, voice fading out and breaking on the second word. _I can’t get into your whole system the way I could before. But I can try something._

“Anything,” Eddie says, gasping for more air. He can barely see. He can’t feel anything but that pain in places where there shouldn't be pain.

_You are sure?_

He squirms again, still on his side, legs kicking uselessly against nothing. “I’m fucking sure.”

A pause. Then the movement at his stomach, _inside_ his stomach, starts again, but now when it starts there’s a background fuzziness moving up from the center of his back, along his spine. It’s almost unnoticeable under the terrible burn of it, under the movement like teeth, but it’s there, and when it reaches the base of his skull it spreads out, probing, a deep ticklish itch inside his head, radiating back out and down the back of his neck. Eddie shudders, feels his shoulders draw up, his head jerking back automatically.

 _I am going to try doing this directly,_ the symbiote says, and then—

“Ohhhhh,” Eddie groans, and in front of him he sees his shaking hands clench tight into fists as he is violently pulled into heaven.

He is floating, every part of him blasted with sudden, white-hot bliss. He can still feel the alley around him, can still feel the movement and scraping of the symbiote’s tendrils deep inside his abdominal cavity, and it _doesn’t matter_ ; the pleasure is pumping out into his head, down his spine, filling him, crowding out every thought and need. Everything is whited-out and shining and good. It doesn’t matter that Eddie can hear the slurping noises now as the little black tendrils draw his guts back inside him, that he’s apparently taking half the contents of the alley back into his abdomen with them. It doesn’t matter, there’s an _explosion_ going on in his head, in his body, it’s beautiful and _all over him_ now, he is—he is _reacting_ , he can feel that he is—

It happens quickly then, before the realization can really sink in. Something _shifts_ in his head, so far inside the lit-up secrets of his brain, like long fingers slipping into the deepest parts of him, and it’s more now, suddenly so much more, it’s too much, he—

 _“Oh,”_ Eddie yells, his fingernails biting into his palms, the skin of his cheek scraping bloody against the concrete beneath him, his hips jerking forward again and again into nothing in front of him as the rush of bright feeling hits him like awful, wonderful fire.

“Jesus—jesus—”

Somewhere, well above where it’s important, he feels skin on his stomach drawing together and sealing up, the membranes inside him stitching and pulling together, and the sensation of it is odd and terrible but still just so far away and his hips keep stuttering forward again and again of their own accord and—

—and even though Eddie is still mostly not-here, he can already tell what has happened, can already feel the sweat starting to cool on his skin, can feel the gooey mess in his pants that slides and drips against fabric as he slowly softens inside of his damp jeans.

“What the—fuck—was that,” he says, voice weak, panting.

 _Sorry_ , says the voice in his head. _I’m still new at this._

“Jesus,” Eddie says again. He looks down, sees his hips give another tiny lazy twitch forward in the dim light, like they’re personally telling him to go fuck himself. Above his jeans, the skin on his stomach is smooth and as unscarred as it ever was. There’s a large, wet stain on the alley floor in front of him, the only evidence of what should have been a near-fatal injury. “You’ve got—you can’t just put organs back inside me without—everything was filthy—”

 _I’m taking care of it_ , the symbiote says, and right then Eddie sees something move under the skin to the right of his bellybutton, along his insides, pressing outwards momentarily like something eel-like swimming just under the surface. _I will consume all the impurities_.

Eddie clenches his teeth, averts his eyes. He feels nauseous, and like he will need a bathroom soon. He feels the blood still wet on his clothes and the jizz on the inside of his pants. Maybe the blood should be the more disturbing part of those two things, but—god, this goddamn thing just made him come just using his _brain_ , how the hell is he supposed to explain _that_ to Anne?

He clears his throat, ignores the next weird sweeping movement deep in his belly. “I didn’t like that,” he says out loud. “We can’t just—that was weird.”

_I said I was sorry, Eddie._

“Now I gotta go fight Drake’s leftover bad guys with fucking jizz in my pants.”

 _You don’t have to, Eddie_ , the symbiote says, and it is obviously already feeling a bit better, because what happens next happens _fast_. The presence inside him swoops down through his torso, down to his groin, pushes out through the skin of his _crotch_ , for god’s sake, and then something happens that makes Eddie’s knees shoot up to his chest, makes him push himself in one quick panicked movement up onto all fours and then onto his feet.

“Jesus Christ,” he says loudly, gasping, standing now but still sweaty and unsteady, and he leans forward to rest his hands on his damp thighs. “Did you just _eat my fucking jizz?”_

There’s no answer, and it’s at that moment that Eddie hears a noise at the mouth of the alley.

He looks up. It’s a man with a gun.

Oh, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about the bad guys, what with the spilled guts and the brain-fucking and all.

The man is dressed in black, from what Eddie can tell, considering that most of the light is coming from behind him. Tactical gear. Rifle already raised and ready to shoot. The man had obviously arrived here to shoot Eddie, and he is not shooting Eddie now, or moving at all, because he had just heard what Eddie had said, and apparently has been hit with a wave of stunned awkwardness so strong that it’s capable of distracting him from even his most pressing symbiote-capturing duties.

Eddie looks up at him, still breathing too hard. He can imagine how he must look: bloodied, clothes torn and burned and stained, skin flushed and sweaty from the orgasm. Can imagine how he must _smell,_ even from this distance.

The man’s hand twitches near the trigger of his gun, and then Eddie feels himself violently jerked forward: the symbiote shoots out a tentacle and grabs the weapon, tosses it down further into the darkness of the alley behind them. Another violent jerk on his other arm, and a slimy tentacle pins the man’s wrists while the first tentacle moves and grows and wraps round his throat.

Yep, the symbiote is definitely feeling better.

 _I’m sorry, Eddie,_ it says. _I embarrassed you in front of this man._

He takes a breath. “Let’s just—knock him out. I want to go home and drink until I can pretend that absolutely none of this ever happened.”

 _I’m going to fix it for you, Eddie_ , and then the symbiote is pushing outward through Eddie’s skin, covering him, expanding, wrapping him up inside of it. _I’m feeling better now. I’ll fix you feeling so embarrassed._

“No,” Eddie says, raising his voice as the symbiote encases him completely, as it takes a step forward toward the man it’s now raising off the ground. Lifting their victim toward them as the pinned man struggles, as he tries to scream.

“No,” Eddie says again. “No fuck no don’t don’t _don’t_ —”

Venom eats him.

 

 


End file.
